Life is Good
by Jusmine
Summary: From good to bad, then back to good. Ian/Jack -Oneshot-


**Disclaimer:** Sadly, I do not own Alex, Jack, or Ian. I do, however, own the agent that Jack terrifies later in the story. :D

Edited as of March 5, 2009.

* * *

When Jack Starbright had found a job as a housekeeper slash nanny to Alex Rider, the most adorable eight year old ever, in her opinion, she had disliked the boy's uncle, Ian. Also known as her boss, employer, the man with her paycheck. Jack had disliked how cool and distant he was, and how tough he was on Alex, how he constantly demanded harder work of the boy, whether it was getting and keeping ahead of his class at school, or learning and perfecting yet another language.

A few months after she began working for Ian, though, she had come to realize that he wasn't as cool and distant as she had thought. She'd realized that when one day he came home from one of his many, many business trips while Alex was at school, and for what seemed like no reason at all, dropped his bag in the doorway to the kitchen and wrapped his arms around Jack, burying his face in her hair. When Jack had asked him what was wrong, he had hushed her by kissing her, whispering "I missed you," when he pulled away.

After this came a very awkward silence, while Jack tried to figure out what the hell was going on, and what she was supposed to do. Finally, Jack said that she had missed him as well. After that came what she remembered quite fondly: their first real kiss.

Jack and Ian were romantically involved over the next years. Jack wished that she could just move into Ian's room, but neither of them had ever told Alex, and they didn't plan on doing so.

Jack discovered that Ian had a lot of scars after he came back from one of his business trips. When she had asked him about them, he had just brushed it off, saying that he had been in a mild car crash while he was traveling. Nothing serious. Jack had expressed her concern that he had been in a crash.

Even more years later, when Alex had just turned fourteen, they had even begun discussing marriage, something neither of them had ever given much thought to before.

"Do you think it would work?" Jack asked hesitantly, lying next to Ian in her bed late one night.

"Of course," Ian turned towards her and wrapped his arms around her. "Why wouldn't it?"

"We'd have to tell Alex, though," Jack murmured, trying to be reasonable and ignore the soft kisses Ian was placing all over her face.

Ian mumbled something against her neck.

"What?" Jack asked.

With a sigh, Ian lifted his head up and said, "I'm sure Alex wouldn't mind."

"Why do you think that he wouldn't mind us having lied to him for all these years?" Jack asked, raising an eyebrow.

A pained look flashed across Ian's face before his features smoothed out quickly, leaving Jack wondering if she had imagined it. When he spoke, his voice was quiet. "We didn't lie to him, exactly. We just… didn't mention it."

"Yeah," Jack agreed, a little sarcastically. "We didn't mention it for five years."

"Five years, six months, and four days," Ian said absently.

Jack just stared at him for a few minutes until he finally looked at her, mimicking Jack's gesture from a few minutes before, and raising an eyebrow. "What?" he asked.

Jack swallowed. "You remember the exact day I kissed you?" she asked.

"If I remember correctly, I was the one that did the kissing," Ian said, pausing before he added: "I can tell you the hours, and possibly the minutes as well."

Jack half sat up. "That's sweet," she grinned, knowing full well how much Ian hated to be called "sweet". Sure enough, he frowned at her.

"How many times do I have to tell you? I am not sweet!" he said, but he couldn't help the slight grin that spread across his mouth.

Jack leaned over him. "Are you sure about that?" she asked, tracing the line of his jaw with the tips of her fingers.

Ian swallowed hard and his breath caught in his throat. "No?" he half-asked, and Jack grinned victoriously, lying back down on her side of the bed.

Ian blinked and grinned before rolling over onto Jack. "You tease," he accused her, laughing as he leaned down to kiss her.

"I know," Jack laughed before their lips met… which they didn't actually get to do, because Ian's cell phone liked to ring at the most inopportune moments possible.

"Who would be calling at this time of night?" Jack sighed, disappointed as Ian got up to answer it. He took one look at the number and said shortly, "Work," and walked out of the room to answer his call. The door clicked softly shut behind him.

Jack could hear Ian's muted voice through the wall as she pulled the blankets tighter around herself. It was much colder without Ian there.

He must work for the weirdest bank in the world, she thought drowsily. Ian was always being called by his work, often staying on the phone for hours, so Jack was surprised when he walked back into the room five minutes later and leaned on the doorframe.

"What was that about?" Jack asked sitting up.

"I have to go on a business trip," Ian said softly. "I'll see you when I get back."

"What?" Jack asked, standing up and walking over to him. "You're leaving right now?"

Ian nodded sadly. "Emergency. My flight's leaving in an hour," was all that he said before kissing Jack goodbye and leaving.

--

Early the next morning, Jack was moping around the kitchen, fixing Alex some breakfast. "Alex!" she called half-heartedly. "You're going to be late for school!"

"I know, I know!" Alex muttered, stumbling into the kitchen, his fair hair still damp from his shower. His eyes immediately lit upon the coffeepot that had freshly brewed coffee in it, and he looked as if he were a man dying of thirst in a desert and had just spotted an oasis.

Alex grabbed a mug and filled it with the steaming dark liquid. He gulped down half of the mug before he looked even half-awake.

"Where's Ian?" he asked, mostly coherent. "Did he already leave for work?"

Jack threw the dishtowel that she was using to dry the dishes in the drainer down with unusual force. "He's away," she said shortly.

Alex just nodded. He was used to Ian's frequent absences by now. "I'm leaving," he said, fortified after his cup of coffee, which was all Jack had made him for breakfast.

"Bye!" Jack called after him. She sighed as the door closed behind him. She really, really hated the times when Ian was gone and Alex was at school. She really hated being all alone in the big house.

--

Ian had been gone for weeks, and Jack was seriously starting to miss him. Finally, Ian called and said that he was coming home soon, he just didn't know exactly when yet.

But that had been days ago now, and they hadn't heard any more from him. He probably got stuck in a load of meetings, Jack told herself firmly, but she couldn't quite convince herself. But, surely they would have been contacted if something had happened to him. Alex was the only next of kin that the man had listed! Still, they heard nothing more for a few days. And then the worst thing that Jack could have imagined happened.

When the doorbell rings at three in the morning, it's never good news. This time it was no exception. The police officers told Jack and Alex that Ian Rider had been involved in an automobile accident. Ian was killed instantly, he probably had not even felt any pain.

--

The funeral was horrible. Jack had had to pretend that Ian's death didn't affect her as much as it did Alex. After all, supposedly her relationship with the man was strictly platonic.

But she still walked around in a daze, hovering near Alex as he accepted condolences from Ian's co-workers, from his friends (Jack had never met any of them) and from Alex's own friends. Alex was constantly looking back at her, making sure she was still there, needing her to comfort him as best she could.

So Jack had had to keep it together for Alex. She couldn't fall apart in front of Alex. But at night, at night when she was alone in her room, she could fall apart. Though, more often than not, she ended up in Ian's room before the night was over. Not sleeping, never sleeping. She couldn't sleep without Ian, or without knowing that he was safe. Knowing that he was dead (and it hurt just to think that word) she hadn't slept for days, now, surviving only barely with coffee, and any other sugar and caffeine that she could get her hands on.

Coffee was her alcohol. She refused to even think of getting drunk with Alex in the house - he was having a hard enough time without adding that to his problems.

But then Alex had gone to the bank where Ian had worked, The Royal & General Bank, and he hadn't come back. Jack had gone out of her mind worrying about him, until, finally, hours later, she received a visit from a bank official. The man had informed her that Alex was detained in a training camp for the SAS. They had sent a fourteen-year-old kid to a training camp for the British elite.

She realized that Ian had been lying to her about his work. He'd never worked for a bank. He was a spy for MI6. All of the scars that he'd said were from a car crash were probably from missions. And, as she recalled the night that he had left on a mission (a mission! As in, a spying mission! Oh, god, her boyfriend had been a James Bond wannabe!) when she and Ian had been discussing marriage, and she had mentioned having lied to Alex for years, about their relationship. She knew now that she had not imagined the look on Ian's face at that - he had been lying to Alex for much longer, about something that might have been even more important than their relationship.

She hoped it hadn't been, though, more important. To her, Ian is (was) the most important thing in her life. He is (was) even more important to her than Alex was.

Ever since that night when those police officers had told her that Ian was dead, her whole world had shattered. Ian, the man that she loved, and that she had been planning to marry, was dead. Dead. Gone. He was never coming back to her, but sometimes… sometimes she could convince herself that he was just on an extended business trip.

And now Alex was, too.

She wouldn't be able to stand it if Alex was hurt or even killed because of the same people who had killed Ian. Maybe MI6 hadn't pulled the trigger, but it was their fault that he was dead. It was all their fault! Fucking MI6!

She wished that Alex was there with her now. He had been gone two days, and she just wanted her Alex, her charge, her practically adopted baby brother, back! Or maybe she didn't…

She didn't know where he was exactly, or what he was doing, or if he was even alive. She quickly quelled that particular line of thought, though. Alex was alive. He had to be. He was just on an extended vacation, she reassured herself.

In the day it had been since the person from 'the Bank' (and how had she ever fallen for that stupid cover?!) had informed her that Alex was nothing more than government property now (not in as many words, of course) she had been busy first with yelling at the agent, who had looked completely terrified, and then with worrying constantly about Alex, not that that was anything new. But now she realized that Alex wasn't there, and she was free to mourn Ian, her Ian.

And for her at the moment, that meant getting as drunk as she possibly could and then some, and maybe actually getting some sleep, that mythical thing that she hadn't experienced in far, far too long.

She somehow managed to force herself out of Ian's bed, where she had been lying since the agent left the house, trying to avoid drowning in her tears, which had thankfully stopped after a few hours.

Getting out the door, down the stairs, and into Ian's study was even harder than getting out of the bed. As much as she wanted to get drunk and just forget, even if it was only for a while, she was very unmotivated for anything that didn't involve crying her eyes out, and trying to breath past the football that seemed to be lodged in her throat.

She finally ended her quest, and, nearing her goal of a drunken stupor, she managed to pick up the pace, almost running over to the small liquor cabinet that Ian (had) kept in the study. She was greatly disappointed at the contents of the cabinet, though. It was empty, completely empty. Jack found herself thinking that that was completely unfair! How could there not be any alcohol in the entire house?

She resigned herself to no drink, and no sleep.

She made it two whole hours before deciding that she couldn't handle it any more, and she needed a release of some sort.

Jack darted out of the house like she was scared that she'd be unable to actually leave the safe sanctuary of her house if she actually thought about it.

She made it down to the nearest liquor store without losing her nerve, and she quickly purchased enough alcohol to put a small army of elephants under. Hopefully it would be enough to put out one Jack.

Returning to her house with her newfound treasures, she realized that she had no idea what she had even bought. She had never been much of a drinker, so she didn't even recognize any of the names.

She just shrugged, though, and opened a bottle, taking a long gulp of some liquid that burned its way down her throat. She grimaced at the taste, and stumbled into the kitchen for a cup and a can of coca-cola. She poured some of the unknown alcohol into the up and drowned it in coke. This time, when she took a sip, the taste was much more bearable.

She worked her way through three cups of her concoction, and found that it was becoming difficult to stand. The world fuzzed and flurrying around her, she barely managed to stumble through into the living room and collapse onto the couch, the combined effects of exhaustion and alcohol putting her straight to sleep.

--

When Jack woke up, the first thing that she noticed was her splitting headache, which she tried unsuccessfully to wince away. The second thing that she noticed was that when she looked at the clock, it was three in the afternoon. She had gone to sleep at about ten thirty on what she hoped was the night before. She had been asleep for almost sixteen hours! At first, she couldn't figure out why she had slept for so long, then she realized that she hadn't slept in days, so when she finally did, she had to catch back up on the sleep that she had missed.

It was only after all of this that she realized that her heart still had a massive hole ripped out of it, and that she was still only alive in the loosest sense of the world. Because, honestly, how could she possibly live without Ian there?

Her stomach growled and she realized that she hadn't eaten in a long, long time. She slowly rose from where she was sprawled out on the couch and stumbled into the kitchen. She started towards the fridge, and then she remembered Ian and her in the kitchen, having their first kiss.

Grimacing, Jack remembered exactly why she had wanted to get drunk in the first place. Instead of opening the fridge, she returned to her selection of drinks.

After that, her life started taking on a pattern. Get drunk, pass out, wake up and get drunk again. For days, she couldn't stand being completely aware, she preferred a drunken stupor, where the pain was dulled and it wasn't like a knife cutting into her over and over again.

Slowly, she came back into the land of the living. She still felt that knife cutting into her heart every time that she thought of Ian, but it was duller now. Because Alex had come home, and he was safe, and he needed her.

Ian was her life; Alex _is_ her life.

* * *

A/N: Not exactly sure what to say... I started out with it just as fluff, but then, for some reason that I don't know of, I decided to try to write angst... "Try" being the operative word. Basically, though, this was an experiment, and written in the great hopes that I'll get some constructive criticism to learn from. There was a hint in there, by the way. ^_^

Thank you for reading, and please review!


End file.
